I Was The One Who Cared After All
by Day.By.Random.Day
Summary: Sherlock and his experiments, poor john. Johnlock


It was a calm evening at 221b, which came as a surprise to John. It had been weeks since their last case and the latter one had consisted of unruly experiments day and night that stretched from counting the number of times John breathed within an hour as he slept (from which he had been so rudely awakened, Sherlock's face mere inches from his) to Sherlock releasing a pack of mice in the apartment to trace their flight movements, and of course John had to clean up every single mess Sherlock left behind.

Lucky for John, Sherlock had decided instead tonight to focus on composing as John listened silently to the violin melodies, shrills, and soft notes that drifted up the stairs into his room. John sat at his desk having spent the last few hours focused on paperwork from the clinic. The music was relaxing and John almost let himself lapse into a since of calm as his lids began to close until, suddenly, the notes stopped and John rose quickly from his chair and towards the door, thinking maybe he could stop another experiment before it started.

As he walked down stairs John smelled something honey-scented coming up the stairs. He pace was quickened having no idea was he was going to have to stop. He rounded the corner into the kitchen to find Sherlock standing there dripping honey into one of two mugs.

"Ah, John." Sherlock greeted him with a smile, handing him the mug he just doctored with honey. "I was about to call you down. Would you like a hot toddy? I found my throat hurting and I thought while in the process with so much ingredients I would make one for you as well."

John took the cup and brought it to his face, sniffing it, trying to tell if this was just another one of Sherlock's experiments he was about to drink.

"I assure you it is not an experiment, John," Sherlock said in his deep baritone voice, a chuckle hidden under the serious demeanor of the words. John took a sip of the drink, feeling the usual burn of whiskey slide down his throat followed by the soothing honey flavor, as he watched Sherlock pour a couple of ounces of honey into his own mug. Sherlock spilled a few drops onto his fingers which he then slid into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing just slightly as he sucked the honey off. John was mid-sip when he saw this and choked on the liquid sliding down his throat when he felt a flutter in his stomach, and possibly somewhere else, at Sherlock's actions.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked with concerning stepping forward to put a hand on John's shoulder.

"Fine." cough. "Fine, just fine." John responded looking away from Sherlock as he fought the flush that had risen to his face. "Come on, John. Let's go sit." Sherlock said softly, the hand on John's shoulder sliding from its place there to rest at the small of John's back as he directed him to the living room.

John tried to not let his reaction to the close contact he had with Sherlock be shown on his face as he was led towards the couch. Instead he focused on the state of the living room. There was fire burning, but nothing was being cooked or fried, so no experiment there, but the more peculiar thing was the afghan that had been laid out in front of the fire. Sherlock's violin rested in the middle of it and Sherlock's hand left John's back as he grabbed the instrument and sat down on the afghan, his back to the fire as he sat his hot toddy down and raised the violin to his chin. Sherlock pulled one leg close to him and stretched the other out, his black slacks and purple shirt hanging loosely off his lean frame. He looked like an oversized cat, utterly content. There was plenty of room on the blanket for John to sit, but out of confusion and unsure motives he opted for the edge of the couch; close to Sherlock, but giving him the chance to jump up and move if something, whatever it could be, happened.

He watched as Sherlock closed his eyes and lifted the bow to the strings. The first note was long and high and was them followed by quicker notes. The song was quick, but held a melancholy feel to it. It was beautiful. And so was Sherlock as his pale face focused so intensely on the music, his long eyelashes fluttering and his soft, pink mouth hanging open ever slightly. John just stared, he rarely got moments like this, of quiet, peaceful Sherlock seeing as the man could never sit still. He was always moving, thinking, and John loved that about him, but sometimes he could see it: the tiredness that filled those silver eyes and thats why, no matter how loudly or how early he played it, John would never refuse Sherlock his violin. It was just as much a part of him as his cold attitude or his quirky experiments.

Sherlock stopped abruptly as his eyes opened and he stared in return at John with said tired eyes. He knew John had been watching him, he always knew everything going on around him, and John looked away realizing his rude gesture. He heard Sherlock take a sip from his mug and he could feel it as Sherlock's eyes returned to him.

"Why don't you sit down here, John?" Sherlock asked gently. John turned to look at Sherlock, watching his face for any trace of ulterior motives. There seemed to be none on Sherlock's sincere face, so John slid lightly to the floor, finding a comfortable spot in front of Sherlock's out stretched leg and his back also towards the heat the small fire emitted. Sherlock gave him a genuine smile and returned the violin to its rightful spot against his chin, playing a couple notes before John interrupted gently.

"So what is the inspiration for this piece?"

Sherlock opened his eyes slightly, studying John's face for a moment before replying,"You."

"Me?" John asked surprised.

"Yes, you. I was thinking the other day while listening to Bach's work about how the music reflected Bach in life, his moods, his antics, his dreams and so I wondered if I could do the same. I wanted to take it one step up to make it un-dull and rather than describe me, which of course I know everything about myself, I wanted to try to capture the life of someone else. I'm starting with you, probably Mrs. Hudson next, Molly, maybe Lestrade..." Sherlock trailed off as his eyes closed again and he continued his playing.

John just stared, astounded. that was so...human of Sherlock, to pay attention to people and their emotions, personalities. He looked from where he had been staring at's Sherlock's long, elegant fingers on the violin to his face which had regained that look of beautiful concentration. He noticed that the heat of the room had Sherlock's usually white face tinged with pink, the flush was not only in his face but stretched down his pale neck, past his defined color bones, and hidden past the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. A thought flew across John's mind, of how far the colored skin stretched...To stop himself John looked back at Sherlock's face and saw that in his concentration Sherlock had licked his lips, leaving them pink and wet, and so, so...kissable. His lips, so round and so soft looking, John had always wanted to know, ever since he met Sherlock how they felt to be kissed.

His hand found purchase on the other side of Sherlock's leg as John leaned in, his eyes focused on Sherlock's lips and Sherlock's eyes still closed. He wore a small smile whether because of the music or that he knew what was about to happen, John didn't know.

John leaned forward finally, closing the distance and sealing his lips against Sherlock's. His playing stop and he stilled, and John worried if this had been the wrong thing to do. He began to pull away, but was stopped by Sherlock's hand as he heard the bow of the violin fall to the ground in Sherlock's haste to catch him.

Sherlock pulled them closer and his lips moved softly against John's, his warm breath washing over John's face, it smelled like honey. John took the next step and pushed his tongue against the entrance of Sherlock's mouth, who opened up willingly, meeting his tongue with John's. They battled for dominance in the kiss before John gave in and let Sherlock kiss him senseless. He could feel Sherlock set down the violin on the other side of him and suddenly his face was enclosed in Sherlock's grasp, still pulling him impossibly closer.

After what seemed like hours they broke apart and John leaned his back against the foot of the couch still dizzy from such a fantastic snog. Sherlock smiled in agreement and leaned back on his own arms, his eyes soaking in John's tussled hair and swollen lips.

"Well that was successful"

"What?"

" My experiment, I was focusing on what conditions and variables would prove well to bring on such a physical response," Sherlock replied in nonchalance.

And suddenly John was there in his face, having gone from sleepy to rage within in a few seconds. "That's all this was to you?" He shouted causing Sherlock to pull back, a confused frown on his face. "An experiment?" John continued. Of course, John thought to himself, Sherlock would always be doing experiments and John had fallen into the trap of another one. Sherlock didn't want him like that and John should have known better.

"John..." Sherlock drawled carefully after a few minutes. "John, I didn't realize this being an experiment would upset you..."

John stared, exasperated at Sherlock. "Of course not," he said. "Just snogging you're flat mate is something you do because of an experiment." He pulled back returning to his position against the couch, his hand scrubbing his face.

"You're upset because its important to you." Sherlock whispered not asking but making a statement.

"Yes, because it's important," John replied his hand still covering his face.

"Well it was important for me too John," Sherlock started waiting for John to look at him before he continued, "I wouldn't have done this with anyone, I hope you understand, not Molly or Irene. It was of the utmost importance that it was you John, you are the one who cares most, after all."

John's eyes were locked on Sherlock's and he could see the emotion and realization cross them as John made sense of what Sherlock said."So..." he started grasping for words. "You choose me for the experiment because you care for me...?"

Sherlock nodded. "And now that I am done with my experiment I wouldn't mind either to explore it as a recreational activity." He said in a clipped tone, suggesting he didn't really care, but John knew better.

He grinned fiercely and lept forward, catching Sherlock's face in his hands, who only grinned back.

"Let me show you how it's done."

"Be my guest."


End file.
